Vulnerable
by Sierra Janeway
Summary: One of Logan's students decides to act when she hears him cry out in fear in the middle of the night. Hurt/comfort/feels/etc.


_Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to Marvel._

**Summary: **One of Logan's students decides to act when she hears him cry out in fear in the middle of the night.

**Chronology: **Post-The Wolverine, sort of a conglomeration of timelines actually

**Pairings: **none

**Rating: **K+ just in case

**Author's Note:** I haven't been writing as much as I should and I was going to force myself to write a one-shot tonight so I'd at least have some writing, even if it's not going towards my original novel which I am SUPPOSED to be working on...but I'm exhausted and have no ideas and I found this bit of writing I did a while ago but never posted.

FYI - Kylie is a young mutant OC I roleplay with. She has the ability to view and experience and influence time and she's kind of anti-social and a rebel. I have novels worth of backstory for her, but I think what's here should be enough for things to make sense.

Basically a small feelings piece involving Wolverine. I blame my friend for this.

* * *

**Vulnerable**

It was about two am that the noises started, sometimes a little later. But Kylie was awake as soon as they started, staring at the ceiling for several long moments before she sat up, numb with sleep but coming awake fast at the sounds of distress from the other room.

Logan had been sleeping in the den of the cabin for about a month now, keeping an eye on her as she struggled to adjust to the school and the students and the shock of a New York winter after being raised in southern Florida. The time fluxes had calmed now that she wasn't in the old mansion, a structure filled with so much history and activity that a flash of a historical event and a shooting pain in her head had accompanied almost every step she had taken. The cabin was a new building and it was far enough from the mansion that she was free of the pressures of socialization. Logan's fairly steady presence had kept her from getting lonely, as rare as the emotion was for her.

But the first night he'd slept there, she'd woken for seemingly no reason in the middle of the night. She had peered around blearily, half expecting an attack to come out of nowhere. But there was nothing. She'd taken a moment, tried to gather herself to go back to sleep. All was quiet. Her head had barely hit the pillow when the quiet broke just slightly – a soft noise, like a grunt. She'd frowned in the dark. It had happened again. She'd slowed sat back up, listening. And then there was a moan and she had been up and out of the bed and into the hallway and then on the threshold of the den where she'd frozen and just watched as Logan thrashed in his sleep, clearly in the throes of some horrific nightmare. She hadn't known what to do, just stood there, uselessly wringing her hands tighter and tighter as the nightmares apparently took a turn for the worse. Then suddenly Logan was bellowing something, claws flashing as he abruptly sat up and Kylie was out of the room, through the hall, and in her own bed, cowering under the blankets from sheer shock.

The next night had been almost a repeat, though this time she hadn't been brave enough to go all the way to the den, just stood timidly in the hall, resting her head on the doorway until he was yelling and she heard claws and then she was back in her bed, heart thrashing like a fish on a sandy beach.

Eventually, she simply stayed in her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and wincing every time Logan made a sound of distress. "Come on," she'd whisper fiercely. "Come on, wake up! You're okay!" Talking to no one, in the hopes that somehow she'd reach his unconscious and calm the demons there. Pointless, but she stayed in a sort of vigil every single night until the nightmares broke and he went quiet again. In the mornings, she ignored his inquiries about her sunken eyes, her sluggish behavior, letting him mutter about kids these days and their technology and couldn't she put that damn ipod down so she could actually get some sleep?

Tonight was different. Tonight her heart clenched in on itself so hard she gasped as Logan cried out, a whimper that was nothing like him and it terrified her. It was enough that without thinking she was creeping from her bed once more, stealing softly across the floor on sock feet, tiptoeing right up to the edge of the blankets where he was nestled in front of the fire. She watched his thrashing body, eyed his hands and swallowed. She knew the risks, but she couldn't just listen to him suffer anymore. She shook her own hands, nervous. She'd been practicing, though there wasn't much precedent or instruction for what she could do.

But now there wasn't time for second thoughts because as she watched, what might have been a tear glittered on Logan's face for just a moment before disappearing. She quickly knelt beside him, took a deep breath, and focused on the living image she had in her head of sitting on a sand dune after school one afternoon when she was twelve, watching a sleepy gecko crawl across the back of her hand. A slight blue glow hovered around the edges of the mental picture, the indicators that told her she'd successfully called up a historical event and not just a mere memory. She fixed the event firmly in her mind, reached out a trembling hand, preparing herself for the onslaught, and then there was nothing else for it and she stretched out her arm and rested her fingers against the throbbing vein in Logan's neck.

She could feel the memory swell and glow a stronger blue and then it rushed away from her and it was replaced by what was in Logan's head.

And what an onslaught it was. She felt the breath seize in her lungs as she was transported to a Japanese funeral, chaotic with guns and flying limbs and blood. And then she was running as Logan ran, limping and in pain and not healing. A fight on a train, the speed threatening to crush her chest and taking away any chance of making any kind of noise she might have had. A silver suit of armor, huge and moving under its own power. Slashing with an impossible blade. Pain, horrible pain, and screaming and suddenly he had no claws and she watched in terror, every bloody moment searing itself into her eyes and into her mind.

Somehow she pulled her fingers away from his neck. She didn't remember doing it. She trembled and her stomach turned, over and over and over. She was on her hands and knees and the room was too hot and too cold and her face was wet and every limb seemed to be alternately filled with cement and gelatin. She turned her neck weakly.

Logan was quiet. His chest rose and fell peacefully.

She watched for a minute or so, limply thankful. She nodded to herself, and somehow managed to stand and wobble very slowly back to her room. She turned once more before she crossed the threshold, glancing at his sleeping form under the blankets, illuminated by firelight.

"They won't come back," she promised him softly, shaken but determined. "I won't let them."


End file.
